That's Life
by HonorH
Summary: Series of post-Grave character-pov vignettes: Buffy, Anya, Xander, Dawn, Giles, and Spike all move on in their various ways. Minor S7 spoilers.
1. Buffy--Living

Disclaimer: Buffy and co. belong to Joss and other brilliant-yet-sadistic people. I own the MacPherson twins and the musings that follow.

Spoilers: up to the 6th season finale and "Star Wars: Attack of the Clones."

Note: Many thanks to Christina (Chris, Kiki, Chaos) Kamnikar and Gyrus for the betas!

Note II: The poem Giles reads is "Dirge Without Music" by Edna St. Vincent Millay.

**That's Life**

By

HonorH

Mandy and Matt, the MacPherson twins, are having a pool party for their sixteenth birthday, God help us all.

"Buffy, come on!" begs Dawn. "Why can't I get a bikini?"

Okay, God help _me_.

I sigh. "Dawn, I am not letting you go to a pool party in something that leaves 99.9% of your skin exposed. I didn't get my first bikini until I was eighteen; you can wait." I pull a glittery one-piece off the rack. "How about this?"

Dawn gives me that look she has that makes me feel approximately 8,000 years old. "No one will be wearing a one-piece. I'd be laughed out of the water!" She yanks free a couple of painfully trendy little scraps of fabric. "How about this?"

"Over my three-times-dead body."

"You know, you said you wouldn't be trying to protect me from the world anymore," Dawn argues.

"Not from demons so much," I agree. "But hormonal 16-year-old boys? Way worse. No bikini. But," I say, stopping her next whine before it gets out of her mouth, "I'll compromise on a two-piece. How about a tankini?"

Dawn bounces a little and heads off toward suits with a little more coverage than she'd like and a little less than I'd like. She pulls off a blue tankini and holds it up for my inspection.

"Isn't that a thong?" I ask.

It is. Dawn makes a face at it. "Ew. Butt floss. How about this one?"

Eventually, she settles on a two-piece with a full-coverage top and a boy-cut bottom, all yellow, orange, and hot pink stripes. I don't fully approve. What's with swimsuits nowadays? I swear they were never that bad when I was 15 and 16. But it's better than standing around Wal-Mart arguing all day.

Truth be told, though, I'm happy just to be arguing with Dawn about swimsuits. Something so ordinary, like the things Mom and I went back and forth about when I was Dawn's age. I think that deep down, Dawn's happy, too, and that's exactly what I want. It's a bit of normalcy creeping back in.

As we leave the store, purchases in hand, Dawn turns to me. "Um, are you going to go see . . ."

"I was thinking about it, maybe later, while you're at the party," I say.

There's a shadow back in her face. "I was thinking . . . I should go with, one of these times."

My first instinct is to tell Dawn no, she shouldn't have to deal with these things, but I stop myself.

"Yeah," I say instead. "Whenever you're up to it, let me know, and we'll go see Willow together. She might like hearing your voice."

***

Sheila Rosenberg is at the hospital when I get there, sitting by her daughter's bedside. I've gotten to know Sheila a lot better over the past few weeks, and I've gotta say, she's not nearly as bad as I thought she was when I was in high school. Willow made a real effort to get closer to her parents after my mother died. We talked about it, and Will said that even though she doesn't think her parents will ever understand her, she knows they love her. Even if they don't quite know how to express it. I'd say she's right. One or both is over almost every day, trying to get Willow to come back to us.

It's been several weeks since Tara's death and Willow's rampage. Not even Giles can quite define what Willow became after she allowed all that dark magic in, but whatever it was, it took a serious toll on her body and mind.

After Dawn and I climbed out of the ground, we headed for the Magic Box, afraid of what we would find there. I can't describe the joy of seeing Giles walking out of it, leaning on Anya. She was all protective and wouldn't even let Dawn hug him until we got to the hospital. Then the three of us—me, Anya, and Dawn—headed to the bluff.

We heard Willow before we saw her. She was sobbing and howling in grief and pain, screaming, "What did I do?" and "I'm sorry!" and crying Tara's name over and over and over while Xander held her. I'll never forget the sound of her voice. I've never heard such agony in anyone else's, except maybe Angel's when he stood on a bluff one Christmas morning, waiting for sunrise.

All we could do was cluster around her and Xander and wait, and finally, she passed out. She turned so white that we got concerned enough to take her to the hospital, and it's a good thing we did. By the time we got there, her lips and fingernails had turned blue.

It was anemia, according to the doctors, severe and acute. They had to do a cut-down in order to find a vein to put an IV in. Still, by the next day, physically she was well enough that she could've gone home. Mentally, she wasn't present. Eyes open, but nobody home. That's how she's been ever since.

All we've told Ira and Sheila is that Willow's lover was murdered, and she had a breakdown. It's close enough to the truth without getting into the paranormal of it. Or the ripping-off-of-skin of it. And it's enough. They knew Tara, accepted her and Willow's relationship with her. I've gotta say I respect them for that. What makes me like them even better is that they insisted Tara be buried in the Rosenberg plot.

"Willow made it clear that she considered Tara to be her life partner," Ira said. "That's good enough for us."

So Tara's laid to rest in a Jewish graveyard, with a gravestone that reads "Wise Woman." I can't think of a better epitaph.

As for Tara's so-called "family," if they actually make an effort to communicate with her, I'll let them know she died. I doubt they will. And if they do, and they come here wanting to take her body back to Podunkville, Arkansas or wherever the redneck hell they come from—well, they'll find out what a Slayer is.

"Hi, Sheila," I say as I enter. "Hey, Wills. I'm here to give you your daily news update."

"Buffy," says Sheila. I'm so glad she's gotten over calling me "Bunny." Not only is it not my name, it freaks Anya out. "I'm glad you're here. I've got a meeting to go to, and I didn't want to leave her alone."

That's Sheila down to the floor. She's been making calls, getting people Willow knew to stay with her as much as possible. Booking Willow's friends is her way of trying to get some control over the sitch. If it helps her get through this, hey, not arguing.

"No prob," I say. "Xander usually swings by after work, and I can keep her company until then."

"Good. Ira will be here this evening. Thanks, Buffy." Sheila leans down to kiss Willow's forehead, then rushes away.

"Your mom's a bit wacky," I tell Willow. "You were right, though: she does love you." I sit down by her bedside and put some music on. Today it's Michelle Branch, who made the top of the Willow Hit Parade a few months back. Then I pull out a local newspaper. "Let's see—Town Hall is being renovated again. They're debating calling it the Richard Wilkins Memorial Town Hall. If they put it up for a vote, I swear I'm stuffing the ballot box with 'no' votes. Speaking of politics, the California Legislature finally got out of deadlock. I'm sure that's important to someone. Oh, and in News of the Weird, you remember that thing a few years back about that six-foot, two hundred pound woman in Bakersfield who beat the hell out of some ninety-eight pound weakling who goosed her? Get this: they just got married. Geez, and I thought my relationship with Spike was left-of-center. Speaking of which, we've seen neither pasty white hide nor bleached hair of him for a month now. Don't think I'm gonna get comfy until I know just where he is . . ."

I don't know why I do this, not really. I give her the news almost every day, always talking fast and making snarky comments on everything, like maybe I can trick her into laughing or rolling her eyes or doing some damn thing other than laying there staring into space.

At first, I just held her hand and told her I loved her and begged her to come back. There's only so long you can do that, though, before you realize it's Just Not Working. Don't know what will work, unfortunately, so pretty much stuck being a newsreader for now.

So I update her on local, state, national, and international news, trying to keep it light. Which makes the "international" segment of the Buffy News Brief very, well, brief, but the local news more than makes up for that.

"Just did the spring cleaning of grindylows out of Lake Wilkins," I tell her. "Betcha you're sorry you missed that. Dawn filled in for you, though." Killing grindylows means someone—and by that I mean me—has to dive into the lake, locate the annoying little water demons, and toss them up on the shore, where her handy accomplices—and by that I mean the Scoobies—douse them with saltwater or cut them to pieces with sharp things. Messy, yeah, but a good introduction to Slaying for Dawn. "I'm training her now, you know. She was right; she needs to learn how to defend herself. She needs to learn how to make her way in this world. I can't always protect her, not if I want her to experience anything. Mom got that with me. I'm just getting it with her. She's so amazing, Will. She's just so amazing."

I look at the clock. "Listen, I've got to start my shift at the Doublemeat soon, so I'm gonna leave. Xander will be here any minute, though, so you just hang tight." I swallow the lump in my throat. "I love you, Will. I really, really love you. Please come back soon." I lean over to kiss her face and brush a hand through her hair, then leave.

***

"I might have expected this," said Giles when we first realized Willow had checked out. "Catatonia. She can't deal with what she's done, so she has retreated from the world."

"But it wasn't all her," Xander protested. "I mean, she was on some pretty serious mojo. There was barely any Willow left in all that."

I rang in, too. "She kept saying she wasn't Willow anymore. Was she possessed or something?"

"That's not entirely accurate. Yes, to a great degree, the dark forces she conjured took her over, bringing out every negative aspect of her personality and augmenting them, while forcing her soul into retreat. But Willow is also aware that she allowed those forces in for the sake of vengeance. She's also aware of the fact that—that the negative aspects the magic brought out in her were already present. They are present in all of us, of course, but most of us keep them in check. Willow has been forcibly introduced to the violence in her own nature and has seen the ultimate result of it."

Giles finished his explanation, and no one else talked—not me, not Anya, not Xander, not even Dawn—for a long time. I know my personality has a dark side. I've walked way too close to the edge as the Slayer. It's hard enough for me to deal with that, but for someone like Willow, who's inherently a good, gentle person . . . I can't imagine.

"So what do we do?" Xander finally asked, sounding sick.

"Just what you did," said Giles. He looked at Xander with so much pride in his eyes it brought tears to mine. "We cannot deny what she's done. It may seem counterintuitive, but to do so would be to drive her further back, as she would feel she has to hide from us. If we acknowledge how far she went, however, and still assure her of our love and support, I believe we will ultimately reach her."

"What if we don't?" Dawn asked. "I mean, I hate to think about it, but what if—what if she doesn't come back?"

I remembered something then. "What about that spell Willow did when I went blanko after Glory took Dawn? Could we do something like that?"

"Not any of us," Giles said. "I do know of adepts who could, however, and if it comes to that, I'm sure they'd be willing to aid us. For now, though, I feel it would be best if we try to reach her through non-magical measures."

So that's what we've done. Day in, day out, we've gone to Willow, played her favorite music for her, read to her, talked, everything we could think of. I don't know if we've even registered.

***

Xander tries the hardest, of course. He's at Willow's bedside every day. He talks to her about when they were kids, mostly, reminding her of the freckle-faced cutie she was in the pictures her family's placed by her bed.

There's a bond between the two of them no one can touch—not Anya, not Giles, not me, not even Tara, while she was alive. Xander is the brother Willow never had, and she's his sister. That's why he could reach her, like the way only Dawn could reach me. It's a bond that goes deeper than magic ever could.

"I get it now," Xander says to me one day while we're sitting on my front porch together.

"What 'it' do you get?" I ask him.

"You and Dawn. What you said before the battle with Glory. I get why you couldn't sacrifice her. Not that I ever thought it was a great idea," he adds quickly. "If it had come down to—to having to kill Willow . . ." He shakes his head. "Even to save the world, I don't think I could've done it." He looks at me. "Makes me respect what you had to do with Angel even more."

"I know exactly what you mean." It's good to hear what Xander just told me. He understands, really understands now, in a way no one has before. Not ever. "Let's just be thankful it didn't come to that."

"Already there. Big time."

I smile at him. "It just took your heart. Your love. And that's a better weapon than anything I've got in my toy box."

"Oh, yeah. I'm the Love Warrior!" We both laugh. "I'll have to put that on my business cards: 'Xander Harris, Carpenter and Love Warrior. Framing Your House—Saving Your World.'" He looks down at his hands. "So if my heart's so great, why does it keep making huge mistakes?"

"Maybe because you don't trust it enough," I say.

"Yeah, well . . ." Xander heaves a sigh. "Love makes you do the wacky. Guess I should've figured that out by now. I've now got this world to deal with where by best friend who I'd have sworn would never hurt a fly went on a rampage and tried to destroy the world, while my ex-fiancée, a demon, tried to help us stop her. And here's the wacky: I love them both." His voice breaks a little on the last word. "God, I wish I could stop loving Anya now that she's a demon again. I wish I could just be mad at Willow for what she did. I wish things could be clear, the way they used to be."

"Things not so easy for the Love Warrior," I say in complete sympathy.

"How many people do you think Anyanka's killed?" Xander asks quietly. I've got no answer, and he nods. "Exactly. Probably more than Spike. Maybe even more than Angel. She had a thousand years, give or take. So why can't I feel the same way about her as I do about the aforementioned bloodsuckers?"

I sigh myself, trying to figure out how to help him. "If it makes things any better, comparing Anya to vampires is kind of apples and oranges. Vampires kill for food and fun. Anya just showed up and took the vengeance scorned women told her to take. It's not like she did the evil thing for its entertainment value."

"No, not like some geeks I could mention. It's all screwed up, Buffy. I don't know what to believe anymore."

He's so confused, and I'm not much better off. So I do what I can: I hug him. He hugs me back.

"Xander giving out hugs?" asks Dawn's voice from inside the door. "Can I get in on that action?"

Xander lets go of me and holds out an arm to Dawn. She practically pounces on him and ends up sitting in his lap. He looks kinda startled. Dawnie needs the physical contact, though. For all her bravery, this has been incredibly tough on her.

"What'cha talking about?" she asks.

"I'm the Love Warrior," Xander announces. Dawn giggles. "That, and the world's really screwed up. Not sure if the two are connected."

"You know what I was thinking? I was thinking we need to have some fun," Dawn says. "Just the three of us, maybe Giles, just to get our minds off of things. The new Star Wars movie is out, and Hayden Christensen is a total babe. How about we go see it?"

"I think the kid's got a terrific idea," I say.

"Yeah, go and see a movie about strange creatures, mystical warriors, battles between good and evil—sounds all escapy to me," says Xander. Dawn elbows him. "Oof!"

"You deserved that," I say. "What do you say, Xander? Take a couple of your favorite girls to a movie?"

He squeezes Dawn around her waist. "I'm gonna go with the yeah. I'm buying, no arguments."

"Who was gonna argue?" asks Dawn.

***

Dawn and I are washing up the supper dishes, waiting for Xander to pick us up for the movie, when she drops a bomb.

"Buffy," she says, "why don't you and Xander get together?"

I just about drop a dish. Thank God for Slayer speed, and for the fact that Giles is elsewhere. I make with the hemming and hawing, since words don't seem to be presenting themselves.

"I'm serious," she says. "Xander knows all about your Slayer-ness, he's okay with it, he likes helping with fighting the bad guys, he loves both of us, and he's such a sweetie, and you've gotta admit he's kind of a hottie. Why shouldn't you two go for it?"

I finally manage to get my vocal cords and my mouth working at the same time. "Well, um, you're right: Xander is all those things. He's wonderful, and I could do a lot worse." I make a face. "Okay, have done a lot worse. I couldn't love Xander more, I really couldn't. It's just that . . ." Damn. The way Dawn puts it, only a crazy person would turn down Xander. But then, I've never been big with the mental health. "Look, there are some guys you feel that way about, and there are some you just don't." I pass her a glass to dry. "Xander's my big brother. If he and I wanted to do the romance thing, we might be able to make it work, but . . . who would be my Xander then? I know I'm not making sense . . ."

"No, not really," agrees Dawn.

I shoot her a Death Glare. "What I'm trying to say is that things are so good between us now that I wouldn't have it any other way. Boyfriends are good and all, but someone like Xander comes along once in a lifetime, if you're really, really lucky. That make sense?"

"Yeah, I guess it does." Dawn finishes drying the last glass, and I let the water out of the sink. "It would sure simple things up, though."

"No arguments there. On top of everything else, though, I think he's still got Anya Issues. It's gonna take him some time to figure that out." I finish drying my hands, and as soon as I do, the object of our discussion comes in the door.

"You two ready for some Star Wars action?" Xander asks.

We are.

***

Unfortunately, the movie turns out to be about as escapy as Xander predicted. Watching Anakin Skywalker's mother die in his arms and his revenge on the Sand People reduces all three of us to tears. Luckily, there's enough action afterward that we can pull ourselves together enough that when we leave the theater, we don't look like we've just been to a funeral.

"It's so sad," says Dawn as we walk back home. "I mean, we already know what he'll turn into. It's like Willow: he got everything wrong."

"Hey, but don't forget that we already know the end of the story, Dawnie," Xander reminds her.

"Yeah," I say. "Remember, Leia leads the Rebellion to victory, and Luke brings his father back from the Dark Side. It's all good in the end."

"I guess so. It's just hard, y'know, that he has to go through all of that. And what about Padme? She loves him, and he's gonna go all evil on her." Dawn sighs. "I wish . . . oops, better not. It'd just be nice if things didn't have to get so screwy before they get better."

"If it wasn't for the bad times, we wouldn't know what to do with the good times," I say.

"That makes absolutely no sense," says Dawn. She's probably right. "On the other hand—Hayden Christensen. No bad there. He's a hottie!"

I'm glad she's changed the subject, so I go along with it. "I dunno. I kinda prefer Ewan McGregor."

"Strangely enough, neither of them do a thing for me," says Xander. Dawn elbows him again. "On the other hand, gotta love Crouching Tiger, Hidden Yoda. Who knew he could lightsaber-fight like a gnat on crack?"

"So if he can do that, why does he have to walk with a cane?" asks Dawn. 

"Good question," says Xander. He spends the rest of our walk home coming up with weirder and weirder theories about Yoda's cane.

On balance, it's been a pretty good evening.

***

I'm teaching Dawn kickboxing. It's a good style for someone small and slim and without the advantage of being a Slayer. She's just starting, but I can already tell she's going to be good at it. Xander rigged a heavy bag in our backyard, and we work out almost every day. Dawn and I go jogging together to improve her stamina, do t'ai chi for balance and concentration, and I've got her on a strength-training regimen with the weights I salvaged from my pretty-much-wrecked workout room behind the Magic Box. I'm also teaching her to use the lightest of my swords. She sits in on my training sessions with Giles, too, now that he's back. I train with him mostly for old times' sake, because I need his presence, his familiarity. I need him.

Dawn likes the training because it shows her I'm not trying to shelter her anymore, but prepare her; I like the time together. How could I have wasted so much time when I could have been helping her grow up? Fifteen is such an awful age. Mine was horrible because I was a new Slayer; Dawn's is horrible for a bunch of other reasons, like Mom being dead, the adults in her life all going blooey, people dying . . .

But I'm back with her now. Every day brings something new for me to be awed by in her. She's so strong, to have survived the past two years and not even be in a mental institution. So smart, so beautiful, so tall—how did she get so much taller than me, anyway?

"Maybe Slaying stunts your growth," Dawn suggests.

I thump her lightly on the head with a hairbrush. I got out of the habit of doing her hair, but it's something we both love, so I've been making up for lost time. Dawn's got such gorgeous hair, too, so thick and shiny and you can do anything with it. Lately, she's been lobbying for highlights. I'm not so sure about that.

"So, working at the Doublemeat until nine," I tell her. "After that, I'll pick you up at Janice's, and you can patrol with me, Giles, and Xander. It'll just be a light sweep; not a whole lot of vamp activity here during the summer. And after that . . ."

"Movie and ice cream!" Dawn finishes. "My night to pick the movie, too, remember?"

I remember. "Just nothing with Freddie Prinze, Jr. in it, okay? For some reason, he creeps me out."

During the day, Dawn's a teenager. She laughs, she shops, she flirts, she giggles, she whines about as much as any teen (and considering how much more she has to whine about than most teens, I can't say I'm complaining), she obsesses about clothes, makeup, and boys, all the ordinary stuff that most kids her age do. Aside from our training sessions, it doesn't look from the outside like she's anything other than a nice, well-adjusted fifteen-year-old girl.

But at night, she whimpers and cries in her sleep. Sometimes I wake up to find her crawling into bed with me or dragging a blanket and pillow in to sleep on the floor beside my bed. I pretend I'm asleep, and she pretends she doesn't know I'm awake. All the things she can crowd out of her head during the day come back with a vengeance at night. I wish I could make them disappear.

But I can't.

***

One afternoon, I find Giles at Willow's bedside, reading to her. I listen from the doorway.

"I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.  
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind  
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely,  
Crowned with lilies and with laurel they go; but  
I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.  
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.  
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,  
A formula, a phrase remains,--but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,--  
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled  
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.  
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave  
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;  
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.  
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."

Giles closes the book, giving Willow that penetrating stare that makes you think he can see your thoughts. I sigh from the doorway, and he looks at me.

***

Having Giles back isn't exactly what I expected. I was sure he'd be incredibly disappointed in me for all that's gone on while he was away. Somewhere in my mind, too, I expected him to find some way to reverse all the damage.

Wrong on both counts. He's not disappointed in me, but he can't undo what's been done. I'm so glad he's here, though. Giles is a part of me. He stood by my side as I went through some of the toughest times of my life. My own dad—I still love him, but he can't deal with having two daughters. Giles may not be related to me by blood, but he's somehow managed to deal. That makes him my father in the best way, the real way.

We walk through the park, him in his casual clothes, me in my sundress, with my arm through his. Just like any other father and daughter on a beautiful May afternoon. I know he's not much for physical contact, but to me, it just feels right. Besides, Giles always smells so good. Dunno what it is, his aftershave, his cologne, his soap, but whatever it is, I love the way he smells.

I've explained a lot of things since he got back, and he's asked a lot of questions, but there's one subject we haven't touched. Mostly because it scares me half to death. I finally can't stand it anymore.

"When are you going to ask me about Spike?" I finally burst out.

"I assumed you would tell me when you were ready," he says.

I take a deep breath. "It just seemed like he was the only one who understood what it was like to crawl out of your own grave. He didn't expect me to be totally okay right away, and he wasn't disappointed when I wasn't. And then I got to thinking—the thing is, his chip didn't work on me, and he was convinced I'd come back part demon or something, and I kinda figured maybe I did, and things were seriously screwed up, so . . ." I sigh, afraid to look at Giles. "Bad decisions. It went on for a few months, and then I realized I wasn't doing either of us any favors, so I called it off. He didn't take it too well, and now he's who-knows-where doing who-knows-what."

Giles doesn't say anything, and I have to ask, "Are you totally disgusted with me now?"

"No. No, Buffy, I'm not," he says, and I know he's telling the truth. "You may have made a bad decision, but believe me when I tell you that you are far from the only person in the world to make a bad decision about who to-to sleep with while under stress. For God's sake, you're not the only person in this conversation to have done so."

He sounds embarrassed. "Do I wanna know?"

"I should say not," he answers. I think he may be right. "I still do wonder if I might have spared you a painful lesson, though, if I'd been here."

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. But it happened, and it's not like you can protect me from everything. You left because you thought it was best for me."

He sighs. "Perhaps. But perhaps, too, my motives were not entirely unmixed." I look at him. "I've wondered if the truth is that I left for my own sake as much as yours. When the musical demon was in town, you nearly died. I-I don't think I could go through that again, watching you die." I squeeze his arm a little, trying to comfort him. "Perhaps, too, I was looking for a life of my own, outside being a Watcher. It's all I've ever been. Well, that, a librarian, and a shop owner. Perhaps I was only being selfish."

"Enough with the self-torture," I tell him. "Giles, when you signed on to be my Watcher, you were just expecting to do some training and order me around. You didn't ever expect to play Dad to a bunch of kids with incredibly complicated love lives. You went way above and beyond for five freakin' years, even when the Watchers fired you. You are the least selfish person I've ever known."

He looks at me, and I can see the pride in his eyes. "Then that makes me second only to you."

Giles has never said the words, and I can count on my hands the times we've hugged each other. Doesn't matter, though. No one can make me feel as loved as he does.

***

The next day, Dawn asks to go with me when I visit Willow. I nod silently, and the two of us head for the hospital.

Xander's already there. He looks so tired. I wonder if he's been sleeping?

"Hey, Buffy, Dawnie," he says when he sees us.

"We thought we'd drop by and help you entertain the captive audience," I say.

Xander cocks his head toward Willow. "You know, she puts up with my puns much better when she's like this."

I head for the CD player and put in a little Matchbox 20. Xander stands up from his chair, and Dawn goes to stand at Willow's bedside.

"Hey, Willow," she says. "It's me, Dawn. I-I wanted to say hi, and I miss you, and-and I wanted to tell you I know you didn't mean all those things you said. It's okay, I'm okay. I just—I just want you to come back. I know it hurts, but . . . please. After Buffy died, you helped me, you helped me so much. You just need to know that whatever you're going through, we want to help you, so you just need to-to come back . . ." Dawn trails off, turning away, her eyes bright with tears. "I can't," she whispers.

Xander puts an arm around her shoulders. "Hey, listen, they've got frozen yogurt in the cafeteria. How about we get some?"

Dawn nods, sniffling just a little. Xander looks at me.

"I'll join you in a minute," I tell him. "Just wanna talk to Willow a bit first, okay?"

Xander nods and leads Dawn away. I turn and face Willow. There are some things I haven't said to her that I need to, and that maybe she needs to hear.

"You're really pissing me off, you know that?" I say. "Don't get me wrong: I still love you, and believe me, I know what it's like, not wanting to come back. Been there, done that, multiple times. But you're stronger than this. You always have been. Problem is, you never saw it."

I take a deep breath, trying to stay under control. "It wasn't magic that made you strong. It wasn't Tara who made you wonderful. You were all of fifteen when I first met you, this incredibly shy, quiet, smart little thing that didn't let the vampires intimidate her. I was the Slayer, and I wanted to get away from it all. You were the one who wouldn't run from it. I was supposed to keep you safe, but you couldn't just let me do my job; you had to help. You offered me everything you had.

"I told you, remember? When you were getting off the magic, I told you, 'You were never just some girl.' Didn't you listen? Did these past few months without the magic, and without Tara, tell you absolutely nothing? Didn't you once ever look around at the people who loved you and say, 'Gosh, I must be someone special'?" I'm crying a bit myself now. "Why didn't you listen? Was it our fault? Did we not say it enough, or not in the right way? Help me out here!"

I sniffle back some tears, get myself back under control. "We're going to get you back. Hide for now if you have to, but we're going to find some way to bring you back, and then we're all going to face this—together. No way are we letting our Willow go." I lean down and kiss her forehead. "I love you. See you tomorrow."

***

Dawn's had another nightmare, probably brought on by the visit with Willow this afternoon, and it sends her into my room. Her entrance startles me awake. There's no hiding it, and Dawn hesitates until I reach out an arm for her. In a second, she's burrowing into my bed and my arms. I hold her while she shakes and cries, and in a little while, she calms.

"Buffy, can I tell you something really awful?" she whispers.

"You can tell me anything," I say.

Dawn sniffles, then starts talking. "I know Tara's got to be in heaven, just like you were. I mean, there's no way she's not, right?"

"Tara is so in heaven."

"I know. But the thing is, I still want her here so much that if someone could bring her back, I'd want them to." Dawn gives a soft sob. "It just hurts so much, knowing I'll never see her again. I'll never be able to t-talk to her again. She'll never make me funny-shaped pancakes, or sing, or tell me what colors mean, never again, and I hate it! I wish she was here!"

"Shh." I stroke my little sister's hair as she cries, and I think about what to say. When she quiets down, I know what I need to tell her. "Dawnie, don't feel guilty about wishing Tara was still here. She was beautiful, and gentle, and loving, and wise. She made the world a better place by being here. Tara deserved to have a long, long life, filled with all the best things this world had to offer. She and Willow should've had years and decades to love each other. They should have grown old together, surrounded by friends and family. And only then, when she'd experienced everything she wanted to, she should've gone to heaven. Someone stole that from her, and it's not right. It's good that she's in heaven, but it would've been even better if she'd had a full life on Earth first. It's okay for you to wish she'd had all that, and that you'd had more of her."

Dawn hugs me tight. "You should have that, too."

"You know what?" I ask. "You're right. And I plan to. I wonder who the oldest Slayer on record was?"

"Ask Giles," Dawn suggests sleepily.

"I'll do that. I'll bet I can blow her out of the water."

"Betcha can." Dawn moves, turning over so that we're spooned. I wrap my arms back around her.

While Dawn is here in my arms, I know she's safe. I know I can comfort her, help her deal with everything that's wrong in her life. And I savor it, because she won't be here forever.

"I love you," I tell her.

"Love you, too, Buff," she murmurs.

She drifts off to sleep. I stay awake and hold onto her because I can. For now. I won't always be able to, and I'm okay with that.

For now, she's mine. Xander's at his apartment, alone. Anya's a demon. Giles is in town. Willow's in the hospital. Spike's who knows where.

It's all a mixture of the good and the bad, but I'll take it. It's called life, and I'm living it as long as I can.

***


	2. Anya--Loving

Note: This wasn't supposed to happen.  Once I got a post-"Grave" pov from Buffy, though, all the other characters decided to chime in, too.  So this is going to be a series of character-pov vignettes, all set after "Grave."  Do not, repeat, do **not** look for continuity in terms of timeline—these will skip all over the place, covering the same events sometimes from multiple viewpoints.  Some of them will skip around in time, and some will stay in one place.  Expect confusion.  If you're okay with that, though, please read on.  Anya wants to tell you something.

Anya

I really wish Vengeance Demon powers weren't so limited.  If they weren't, I could say, "Repair yourself!" to the Magic Box, and poof!  Repaired.  But I can't.  We're stuck doing things the slow way, with Giles scratching his head a lot and looking skeptical, and Xander standing around measuring things and saying encouraging things like, "Boy, what a mess!"  As if we can't all see that for ourselves.

At the very least, Xander could've dragged Willow back here and made her clean up her mess.  But no, he had to take her to the hospital on account of a catastrophic drop in her hematocrit.  Now she's just lying in a hospital bed staring into space, doing absolutely no one any good.  On the other hand, at least she's not trying to kill nerds or throwing people around or controlling demons' minds or trying to destroy the world anymore.  Which is a plus.

Still, it's a bit frustrating.  If she'd just come to me, I would've taken any vengeance on Warren she wanted.  I'd even have done the flaying, if she'd insisted.  I don't really like it, but, hey, I'm not supposed to judge vengeance wishes; I'm just supposed to carry them out.

Let this be a lesson to you all, by the way: leave vengeance to the professionals.

Anyway, she didn't, which is why we're all cleaning everything up now.  For whatever reason, Xander, Buffy, and Giles decided the first thing to do was destroy the Satanic temple Willow raised.  I mean, it was hideous, granted, and the Effigy of Prosepexa did have certain world-destroying capabilities, but hardly anyone's qualified to use it anymore, so I don't see why it was so urgent.  Unlike my poor shop, which is losing money by the hour.  However, I was overruled, and they blew up the temple, taking out half the bluff with it, and only then did they turn their attention to the Magic Box.

With the five of us—me, Giles, Buffy, Xander, and Dawn—we got it pretty well cleared out in a few days.  Rebuilding, though, is going to take more time.  And money.  Don't forget the money.  Giles and I have been in insurance paperwork up to our eyebrows.  It's not easy, either.  I mean, they understand "Act of God," but not "Act of Willow."  We've decided fudging the details is probably a good idea.

It's all really weird, though.  Willow's hospitalized in the Psych Ward, Buffy and Dawn seem to be glued to each other, and Xander saved the world.  The first is understandable, if not productive, the second is sort of sickly sweet, but also understandable, and the third is incomprehensible.  Xander?  He walked out on our wedding, but he manages to save the world by telling Willow he loves her.  It's all very confusing, and it makes me mad and relieved and frustrated and proud all at the same time.

To think I thought things would get simpler once I became a demon again . . .

Not with this bunch.  No, sirree.  Never just an ordinary, "Hi, how ya doin', I'm doing fine, see you later."  Instead, we've got the, "Hi, there's an apocalypse downtown, why don't you help out?"  It's annoying.  You'd think I wouldn't feel obligated to help anymore, but I do, chiefly because if I don't, things will get even weirder and more pointless and my shop will never be rebuilt, and even if I did manage it, it'd probably just get knocked down again by the next apocalypse, and besides, I like existing, and some of these things even take out demons.  So I help.

Speaking of apocalypses, Buffy's here now.  She's rooting through her workout room trying to salvage her equipment.  It's as good a chance as any to talk to her, and there's something I need to know.

"Where's Dawn?" I ask her.

"School," says Buffy.  "She's still got a week left."

"Oh.  Okay.  Have you and Xander been having sex?"

Probably shouldn't have asked that while she was taking a drink.  Now I'm going to have water damage, too.

She coughs and snorts a bit before answering.  "No, we haven't.  What brought that on?"

"Just wondering.  He's been spending a lot of time with you and Dawn lately, and a girl could get suspicious.  You know, with the playing parents to the little girl, and both of you being attractive and lusty and not gay, it's just a small step to him staying a little late after Dawn's in bed, and the two of you watching television together and thinking, 'Gee, it's been a good long while since I had a good—'"

"Anya," she says, interrupting, "it's not like that.  Xander and I aren't going that route.  Okay?"

"Okay."

She stops what she's doing and comes over to me.  "What's this all about, anyway?"

She's being really nice, and I don't think it's fake.  She sounds really concerned, so I decide to just tell her.  "What if Xander decides to get even with me for the sex with Spike?  What if he has sex with another girl?  I wouldn't like it.  Especially with you.  And the thing is, you are Spike's ex, and therefore the perfect person to have sex with in order to get back at us both."

"You know Xander better than that," says Buffy.  "You should know me better than that, too."

"That's true," I admit.  "But then, I didn't think you'd have sex with Spike in the first place, and you did."

"Yeah, I did."  Buffy looks away from me, and I can feel emotions bleeding off of her.  The need for vengeance isn't the only human emotion I can sense, although it comes through most strongly.  Right now, Buffy's sort of sad and angry and hurt.  That's a mix I can understand.  "I did have sex with him.  Hell, I had an entire fling with him, and before I died, I'd have told you that was positively the last thing I'd ever do."

"So why did you do it?"

Buffy sighs in that way people do when they're about to start talking and not stop.  "I came back, and things were so hard.  Everything felt wrong.  I had all these responsibilities, and I didn't even feel like I was really here or really me.  It seemed like . . . like Spike was the only one who really understood.  He didn't expect me to be happy with having just crawled out of my grave.  He didn't need me to be, not the way Xander and Willow did.  And he was the only one I could talk to, since he hadn't been involved in raising me."

"Why didn't you talk to Giles?" I ask.  "Seems sensible to me."

"I couldn't," she says.  "He had a huge fight with Willow right after he got back to Sunnydale.  I knew that if I told Giles what had really happened . . . it would only have made things worse for her.  For all of you."

"I get it," I say.  "Spike hates us all anyway—well, except for me; he told me I was the only one he wouldn't bite if he had the chance, which I thought was really sweet of him—so you could talk to him."

She gets this crinkled-forehead look.  "I hadn't really thought about it that way, but actually, you're right.  I wasn't changing Spike's opinion of any of you guys by talking to him.  And I was attracted to him, and I knew I shouldn't be, so I kept yanking him closer and pushing him away, and finally, I just said 'Screw it,' and . . ."

"Screwed him?"

"Pretty much."  She wanders over to a pile of salvaged books and starts flipping through one.  "Actually, though, I don't think it was him I was screwing.  It was myself."

Okay, now that's confusing.  "I don't get it.  If you were wanting to screw yourself, why didn't you just—"

She stops me by holding up a hand.  "I don't mean screwing myself that way.  I'm the Slayer.  Spike's killed two Slayers.  The first time I had sex with him was after I found out he could hurt me.  If that doesn't shout 'self-destructive tendencies,' what does?"

"You have a point," I say.

"Not only that, but while I was with him, I could ignore all my other responsibilities—to Dawn, to the world in general, to my friends, everything.  While I was with him, I felt something.  I wasn't numb."

"I get that," I say, and I do.  "A good orgasm or three does make you feel better."

Buffy makes a sound like a laugh, only I don't think she's finding anything funny.  "Yeah, but it doesn't last long.  And the sex was about the only part of our so-called relationship that was good.  I was using him, and he wanted to possess me.  Not a good combination."  She kind of shrugs.  "I called it off when I realized just how bad it had gotten.  I was using and abusing him, and he was letting me.  Not doing either of us any favors."

"Oh."  I guess I understand.  Human relationships are always so complicated.  Of course, so are demon relationships.  I remember this one time, a demoness conjured me because—but I'm going off on a tangent.  "He did love you, you know," I tell Buffy.  "Demons can love."

"I know," she says, looking sad.  "I know he loved me, and I know you love Xander."

Hey, when did this get to be about Xander and me?  "Why'd you say that?"

She smiles.  "It's kinda obvious, the way you two have been dancing around each other.  The way you've been so angry at him—you wouldn't feel that way unless part of you still loved him.  And he loves you."

I don't know what to say.  The problem is, I think she's right.  Love kind of explains why I can't stop thinking about Xander.  All day, all night, in the shower, when I'm doing business, it's Xander, Xander, Xander.  I wish I could just flush him out of my skull.

Buffy comes closer, and something goes crunch under her foot.  I take a look.  Oh, good, just another of those trendy little glass spheres that looks cool but doesn't actually do anything.  I get them from a wholesaler in Santa Monica and resell them to the gullible for a tidy little profit.

"Hope that wasn't anything important," Buffy says.

"No, just something to swindle New Agers with," I say.

She blinks at me, then gets back to the subject.  "I don't mean to pry into you and Xander's . . . thing, Anya, and I know it's none of my business.  All I need to know is if someone's going to get hurt."  She looks at me.  "You're a demon now.  Are you going to hurt him?"

"I can't," I say.  "Tried, couldn't.  I can't exact vengeance on behalf of myself, so don't worry about his skin rotting or his spleen exploding.  Besides, I'm not even sure I want to.  I mean, if my original plan had worked, where would we all be now?"

"It sure as hell wouldn't have solved anything.  Vengeance never does."  Something in her eyes changes.  I have a feeling we're about to talk business—her business.  "You're back on the clock as a Vengeance Demon again now.  What's your body count?"

"Just two," I tell her.  "I mean, I've only done two curses, but neither of them is dead.  One was this stupid high school boy who dumped his date for the Prom—on the day of the Prom—because someone hotter wanted to go with him.  His original date wished he had the world's worst case of acne.  It's not pretty, but he'll clear up sooner or later.  The other is Parker Abrams."

Buffy's eyes go kind of wide.  "Oh."

"He was kind of a curse waiting to happen, actually.  Want to know what I did to him?"

Buffy's got this funny look on her face, like she wants to know but wishes she didn't want to know.  Finally, she just shrugs.  "Sure."

"The girl in question wished he'd be unable to perform whenever he sweet-talked a girl into bed with him.  Needless to say, that's put a crimp in his social life."

"Oh," says Buffy again.  She looks like she's trying to be stern, but suddenly, she starts snickering, then laughing, and pretty soon, she's sitting down in the middle of the floor, howling.  It takes her a couple of minutes to pull it together.  When she finally gets up, she says, "Okay, we're still good.  Just as a warning, though: guys do stupid things.  It doesn't mean they deserve to die.  I don't want you going around ripping out intestines or boiling brains on account of a guy having a bad judgment day.  If I do get wind of it . . . we'll have problems.  I don't want that."

I've seen what Buffy does to her enemies.  It makes me not want to be one of them.  "I don't want that, either."

"Good.  Then we understand each other."  She relaxes, and suddenly, it's like she's Buffy again, and not the Slayer.  It's a relief.  "I'm still your friend, Anya.  I'm very grateful for the way you helped us when we fought Willow."

"And the Spike thing?"

She waves her hand.  "Totally understandable.  Yes, Xander was hurt, but that's you guys' issue, not mine.  And I'm not with Spike anymore."  Her eyes go hard.  "I'm not going to be with Spike again.  Ever."

"Do you know where he is?" I ask.  I kind of feel responsible for him leaving town.

"No idea.  He and I had a . . . confrontation, and he skipped town.  Clem seems to think he'll be back sometime.  I don't know."

There's more to this than Buffy's saying.  She's feeling rage, betrayal, and hurt.  It's a combination that makes the demon in me perk its head up.

"Wish I could do something about him?" I ask.  Hey, it's my job, after all.

She shakes her head.  "No.  No, I'm gonna have to do the dealing with Spike myself."

"Good.  I didn't really want to hurt Spike anyway."  She looks at me.  "He was just . . . so nice to talk to that night we had the bad-judgment sex.  It felt good to have someone who understood, you know?  Really understood."

Buffy's emotions change again.  She's got more hurt than anything, kind of an empty, achy feeling, like she lost something and can't ever get it back.

"I know," she says.  "I know how that feels."  She takes a deep breath and looks at her watch.  "School's out.  I need to get home to meet Dawn."  Buffy smiles at me.  "It's been good talking with you, Anya."

"It has been," I say.  She turns to leave, but just before she gets to the door, I remember something.  "Buffy?"  She turns.  "Do you think—do you think that Xander really does still . . . you know, love me?  Even though I'm a demon?"

"I'm sure of it," Buffy says, and she sounds sure.

She leaves, and I go back to working on my shop.  Xander said he'd be here with some lumber this evening.  Maybe he and I can talk while he's working.  I could ask him about Willow, and if she's still staring into space.  Or maybe we could talk about what's been happening on FarScape.  Maybe he'll invite me to the apartment, or ask me out to a movie.  Maybe things can change, and in a good way for once.


	3. Xander--Rebuilding

Xander

Doing drywall is pretty brainless work.  I've done so much of it in the past two years that everything's pretty much automatic by now.  Leaves the ol' brain plenty of time to wander off by itself while I'm working.

God, I wish I was doing electrical work or something, anything that would keep my mind focused on the job instead of the fact that I saved the world.

Isn't that a brain-job?  Xander Harris saved the world.  I. Saved. The. World.  Saved it.  All those people running around in the sunshine and not working on a beautiful day like today are doing it because of something I did.  Weird, bizarre-type thought, and I wish I could just get past it.

Not that I'm getting all hero-complexy or big-ego.  Just the opposite.  I wish anybody else had done it.  Knowing that I had the fate of the entire planet resting on my shoulders for all of fifteen minutes gives me the oogies.  Is this what Buffy feels like all the time?  'Cause if she does, I've got even more respect for her now than ever.

"It's weird, I know," Buffy said after I asked her about it.  "Things'll get back to normal for you sooner or later, though.  For a little while, you'll just be looking around at the world and thinking about how fragile it all is.  How one instant, one wrong thing, could wipe it all out."

"I never felt like that when it was you saving the world," I told her.  "It was like—of course you were going to save it.  No question."

"And then, all of a sudden, I couldn't," she said.  "It was all up to you."

"And it wasn't a sure thing.  Man, Buffy, it was touch-and-go there.  I wasn't sure I could get through to Will.  There was so little of her I could even recognize in there.  I keep on thinking about—what if I'd said the wrong thing, or gotten there too late?  It would've been Everything Go Boom.  After all, if the fate of the world was resting on Xander Harris doing things right, what was the chance it could actually get saved?"

Buffy smiled at me then, that gorgeous smile I fell in love with way back when I was an even-stupider sixteen-year-old.  "Well I, for one, am glad Xander Harris was there to make things right.  I had my own battles to fight this year; you had to take the really big one."

It's crazy.  Things got so upside-down this last year.  I mean, we brought Buffy back from the dead, which should've been a good thing, but turned out not to be so much for her.  Three human guys complete with souls caused us more trouble than all the demons and vampires combined.  Then my best friend caused even more trouble than the Geek Mafia.  Dawn stole stuff, Buffy had a fling with Spike, and I walked out of my own wedding, causing my bride to become a demon.  Again.  I think I'd have preferred a good, old-fashioned apocalypse to all that.

Speaking of my demon bride, she just surprised the hell out of me.

"Sorry about that," Anya says while my heart attempts to dislodge itself from my throat.  "I just teleported in from the mall.  Would you like a lemonade?  I got them at Hot Dog On A Stick."  She smiles, holding out a cup to me.

"Thanks."  I take a drink, looking at her.  Anya's still so much the same girl I fell in love with.  What part of her is the demon now?  Does it matter?

I asked Giles about it a few days ago, and he said, "I don't know much about the nature of Vengeance Demons, I'm afraid.  Anya seems very similar to how she was as a human right now, but then, the great majority of her life has been spent as a demon."

"I just feel responsible, you know?" I said.  It was the first time I'd told anybody this.  "She became a demon because I hurt her.  I left her at the altar, and then her old demon boss offered her her job back.  What choice did she have?"

"Her own choice," Giles said.  "You made a mistake, Xander.  A large one, I'll grant you, but ultimately, Anya's decision to go back to her demon state was her own choice, not yours.  Just as it was Warren's choice to come after Buffy with a gun."

Ouch.  Another sore spot.  Giles knows where to find 'em.  "If I'd done something when I saw Warren with the gun . . ."

"It wasn't your fault."  Giles had that "don't argue with me" tone in his voice.  "Warren made his own choice, and Willow made hers.  You were the one who got stuck with the job of cleaning up after them.  Which is something you did exceedingly well."

Giles looked at me, and I could see he was proud of me.  He _is_ proud of me.  That . . . man, I can't even describe it.  Is this what it feels like to have your dad be proud of you?  'Cause I never felt like that while I was growing up.  Giles told me that when he sensed I was with Willow on the bluff, he knew I'd be able to reach her.  To save us.  Giles believed in me, the way he believes in Buffy.

Sometimes, I think that's the best thing to come out of all this.

"So.  How about that FarScape?" Anya suddenly asks.

What's really weird is how she's acting around me lately.  No threats or snarky comments, just attempts at normal-for-us conversation.  It's scaring me.  Anya wasn't the type to call a truce _before_ she became a demon again.  Somehow, though, I can't make myself bring up our Issues again, or even talk about our relationship.  So we chat about our favorite aliens, which, as usual, ends up with her comparing them with various demons.  Like I said, normal for us.

Lately, I can't stop thinking about her and Cordelia.  I mean, both of them got hurt bad by me being stupid with them.  Cordy fell on a rebar and almost died.  Anya's a demon now.  Am I ever going to be able to love a girl without hurting her?  God, both Anya and Buffy turned to Spike (and I am not going there, since even thinking about that bastard makes me mad enough to spit nails) for comfort because of something I did, or helped to do.  That's me dealing serious pain to three out of the five girls I've loved most in my life.  I'd better not mess up with Wills or Dawn.

Speaking of which, Dawn's just coming in to add varnish to a bookshelf I put together.  She's repaying her debt by helping rebuild the Magic Box.  Looks cute as a button, too, in her t-shirt and ratty jeans, with a bandanna covering her hair.  Yep, that's our Dawnie.  Entirely too cute.  And rapidly turning into pretty, which, given that she shares her big sister's DNA, is probably going to turn into full-blown beautiful right before our eyes, which will lead to guys like me when I was in high school drooling over her, which will lead to those guys asking her out, which will lead to them having totally inappropriate thoughts about her, which will lead to me having an intense need to grab a hammer and smash a few hormone-soaked little heads--!

Which leads to big ol' cracks in the sheetrock.  Nice job, Harris.  Note to self: do not think about teenaged guys and Dawn while doing drywall.  I just hope she learned her lesson about dating vampires . . .

Anya's looking at me like I just sprouted antlers (and hey, this being the Hellmouth and all . . .).  "What was that all about?"

"Sorry," I say, trying to repair the results of my straying thoughts.  "I was just thinking that Dawn's going to be dating one of these days, and I'm not liking the idea of a guy like me getting ideas, you know?"

"About orgasms?" asks Anya.

You just have to take it in stride, you know?  "Yeah.  About that."

"You don't want Dawn having—"

"Let's not talk about it, okay?"

Dawn pokes her head in.  "Someone say my name?"

"No," I say before Anya can spill anything.  "We're just talking is all."

"Okay."  Dawn grins and winks at me.  I think she's happy that Anya and I are getting along.  Maybe it gives her a little more faith in love.  Considering how many couples have disintegrated right in front of her eyes, starting with her parents, it's probably nice for her to think that maybe a few lucky people can make it.

After Dawn goes back to varnishing in the other room, Anya looks at me.  "You know, if worse comes to worse, Dawn can always come to me.  That's what I'm here for."

"I don't want worse coming to worse," I say.  "Not for Dawn.  Not for anybody, really."

"Like it did for us," says Anya quietly.

"Yeah.  Like that."  I run my hand along the seam I just made.  "Like it did for Tara and Willow.  And Buffy and Angel, and Buffy and Riley, and Joyce and Hank, and Giles and Jenny Calendar.  I wish it didn't happen to anybody."

Anya nods, holding onto her pendant.  "I wish I could grant that wish.  The logistics are just impossible, though."  She gives me a sad little half-smile.

Something connects between us all of a sudden.  We're not Anyanka and the guy who scorned her; we're just Anya and Xander.  It feels good.  Warm.  The way things are supposed to feel when two people love each other.

It only lasts for a second, though, and Anya hurries away, running down the stairs to the basement.

She still loves me.  And I still love her.  That throws everything I thought I knew into the toilet.  Damn.  Why do things have to be so friggin' complicated?

The drywall's finished.  I can finish the wall itself tomorrow.  Right now, I need to get some air and go see how Willow is doing.  I find Dawn.

"I'm headed to the hospital," I tell her.  "Anya's in the basement.  You okay here?"

"Sure," she says.  She glances over in the direction of the stairs.  "Are you and Anya . . . you know?"

"I don't know."  I shrug.  "I just don't."

"Complicated?" she asks.  I nod.  She sighs.  "Why does everything have to be that way?"

"Tell me if you figure out the answer to that," I say.  "See you later."

I head to my apartment first to get some clean clothes, then drive to the hospital.  The drive's good for working things through in my head.  Monday, I need to call Builder's Choice and haggle over some trusses, and that's also the day we should hear back about our bid for the job of rebuilding Sunnydale High.  Hope we get that one, 'cause that means one serious contract, which means I'll be in the money, which means I can finance a new car (I'm borrowing Joyce's old car right now).  Can't forget about patrol tonight, either.  Buffy says if we finish early enough, she, Dawn, and I can hit the Bronze and "boogie."  Her word.  Maybe I should ask Anya if she'd like to join us.  I saved the world.

And there it is again.

Buffy was right: I just look around and see how fragile it all is, and suddenly, life's this precious thing.  You've got to take care of it.  There's no excuse good enough for not holding on to the people you love as hard as you can.

I need to make things right with Anya.  Doesn't matter that she's a demon now; I've got to let her know I still love her, and if there's any way things can work out between us, I'll take it.

When I get to the hospital, I head up to Willow's room.  It kills me to see her like this.  This isn't Willow—it's like her body's laying here, but Willow's someplace else.  It just feels so wrong for her to be so still and quiet.

I start talking.  I talk about Miss Hawley, who was our favorite sub in elementary school.  She always used to bring gum for everybody.  I remind Willow about the song she, Jesse, and I made up to mock Gordon Fry, the class bully.  Fry's a vampire now, of course.  The bad die young in this town.  I'm right in the middle of the second verse, which is about Gordon eating boogers, when—

"Xander?"

I stop dead.  That was WillowVoice.

Willow moves for the first time in two weeks, turning her head so she's looking right at me.  She's so pale, and it makes her eyes look even bigger than they usually are.

"Xander?" she says again.  Her voice is faint, like her vocal cords rusted while she wasn't using them, but she just said something.  I get over that fact and try to think of something intelligent to say.

"Yeah, it's me."  Okay, so not brilliant, but it's something.

"I . . ."  Willow looks around very slowly, like she doesn't understand where she is.  "How long?"

I have to take her hand to be sure this is really happening.  Her fingers are cold, but they're real, and all of a sudden, I'm just about to cry.

"Couple of weeks," I manage to get out.

"Tara."

Oh, God, am I going to have to tell her again?

Will's eyes catch mine again.  "You . . . buried her?"

I breathe out a sigh of relief, even though those are somehow the saddest words I ever heard.  "Yeah.  We did."

"Xander," she whispers, "take me to see her.  Please."

"Sure," I say.  "Yeah.  No problem."  Tears are a serious threat now.  I swallow.  "We've just gotta spring you from this mausoleum.  I'll get a doctor, or a nurse, or some medical-type person . . ."

Her hand won't let mine go, though.  "No," she whimpers.  "No, please . . . don't leave me, Xander.  Don't leave."

"I'm not leaving."  Willow doesn't need a doctor right now; she needs her best friend.  I sit beside her on the bed, careful not to hit her IV line, and pull her into my arms as much as I can.  I try not to think about what she's done, and how hard it's going to be for her to live with it all.  I just hold her.  "Don't worry, Will.  I'll be right here as long as you need me."

Life's too short to be anywhere else.


	4. Dawn--Reflecting

Dawn

May 25

Dear Diary,

The good news: Buffy's letting me wear a two-piece to Mandy and Matt's birthday party! I never thought I'd be able to sell her on that. Guess she really is loosening up. Good thing, too—I guarantee Janice'll wear a bikini, and you just know Kirstie will show up in something that shows off her boobs. Anyway, I got the cutest two-piece. Should I wear my hair up and try not to get soaked, or just give in to the inevitable and wear it down? Or maybe a ponytail?

The bad news: Still almost two weeks of school left. Ugh.

Willow's still checked out. I heard Buffy and Giles talking, and he's worried her mind might've been completely destroyed by all the magic. Thing is, while I'm still mad at Willow—okay, okay, I know why she did it, and I'm not exactly crying for Warren and all, but she was still totally wrong—I can't imagine not having her back. Buffy's worried that even if she does come back, she won't be able to deal. It scares me.

More cards in the mail. I guess Tara had a lot of friends at college, because they're all sending us cards and flowers and gifts since the funeral. How much did I hate that? I started crying so hard Buffy handed me to Xander since she figured I needed someone big to cry all over. She was right. A XanderHug always helps.

Speaking of which, I've got the best idea: Xander and Buffy should get together! Gotta figure out the right way to spring it on Buff, though.

Missing Mom and Tara factor: 6.8

***

June 5

Dear Diary,

The good news: Last day of school! Yeah! Out for the summer, and Mrs. McKinley liked my English project, so I may actually get that A.

The bad news: Babysitting the Delaney demons, excuse me, kids tonight. At least it's good money. Their parents are so desperate to get away from them that they'll pay practically anything for a sitter who's willing to put up with the little monsters. I've almost saved enough to have my hair highlighted. Now, if I can only convince the Buff. Who, by the way, didn't go for my Xander idea. I get the whole "friends" thing, but it'd so simple things up.

Sorry for leaving. I heard Buffy on the phone and it sounded important. It is. Xander called and said Willow woke up. She talked to Xander a little, and the doctors are examining her to see if she can go home.

I don't know how to feel. I mean, I'm glad that Willow's not in la-la land anymore, but I don't know if I want her back here. I keep having these nightmares about her eyes and the creepy black veins in her face and all the things she said to me. The worst one was right after I went to see her in the hospital, you know, the one that made me crawl into bed with Buffy. Again. God, how embarrassing is that? I'm just glad Buffy's so understanding about the whole thing. I just, it's so scary sometimes, in my dreams, and when I wake up, I know the monsters aren't just in my head.

Anyway, Buffy's going to go visit Willow in the hospital. I think Giles is going, too. I told Buffy there was some work Anya wanted me to do at the Magic Box. She pretended to buy it, so that's where I'm headed now. Later.

Missing Mom and Tara factor: 7.5

***

June 10

Dear Diary,

Okay, talk about a lot happening in five days. Here's the 411:

Willow didn't come home here. She went back to her parents' house for a few days, and Xander says she can stay at his apartment if she needs to. Buffy asked me how I really felt about it, and even though I felt kinda awful saying I didn't want Willow back here, Buffy said it was okay, she understood. It's nice to have her talking to me like I'm grown up. Even though I got to crying all over her again. Buffy understands, though.

It's so good to have her back. I mean, not just back from the dead, back from wherever she was all year. It feels good to know she's there for me again, you know? Especially now that Tara's gone. If Buffy was still off in her whatever now, I don't know what I'd do. Probably be a bank robber by now or something.

Anyway, back to what's happening. Willow snapped out of it, but she's still not exactly "up to code," as Xander said. Which means she wasn't here to help us with the latest apocalypse, the rising of the demon Alka-Seltzer. Okay, that's not really what it's called, but I swear that's what it sounds like, and I can't spell the other. We took care of it, though, me, Buffy, Giles, Xander, and Anya.

I think Xander and Anya might be getting back together, btw.

It's late, so I'm not going to give details right now, but I swear I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. 'Night, Diary.

Missing Mom and Tara factor: 6.5

***

June 18

Dear Diary,

Giles is leaving. With Willow. He's taking her to England for some kind of witch therapy. Buffy broke it to me yesterday. He hasn't even been here a month!

I know, I'm whining, but I'm going to miss him so bad, just like when he left the two other times. Seems like everyone leaves. Like Dad. Like Buffy's boyfriends. Like He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, who hasn't shown his peroxided head since The Incident. Which is lucky for him, because nobody does that to my sister and doesn't get staked. I guess I understand why Buffy didn't stake him herself. I think she feels like she brought it on herself, which is royal crap, but I think she also didn't want to go through what she had to with Angel again. She shouldn't have to. Which is why I swear I'll do it myself if he shows up again looking for action.

Anyway, Giles. Buffy says we'll be fine without him. I guess we will, I'll just miss him. But he already told Buffy that if she needs him, please give him a call before it comes to an apocalypse.

Oh, and I caught Buffy going through the job ads again. She says she's not crazy enough to spend any more time at the Doublemeat than she absolutely has to.

Missing Mom and Tara factor: 9.8. Guess Giles leaving really brings it out in me.

***

June 20

Dear Diary,

The good news: Wish I had some.

The bad news: Giles and Willow shipped out today. He stopped by the house to say goodbye to both of us, Buffy and me. More crying. Willow wouldn't come inside, which is okay, since I don't really want to see her until she's been through Witch Rehab. Xander took them to the airport.

The worse news: Buffy and I have a new social worker. She's coming by tomorrow. Lame! So Buffy and I are cleaning house frantically, and please, God, don't let this person know about the shootings!

Missing Mom and Tara factor: 9.8 again.

***

June 21

Dear Diary,

Wonders never cease. The new social worker, Deena, is actually a pretty cool person. She knew about the shootings, but she let Buffy talk about them and give her side of the story. The official line, btw, is: Buffy caught Warren doing something illegal and tipped off the police, and when Warren didn't get caught but his friends did, he shot the place up, wounded Buffy not-seriously, and killed Tara. It's close enough to the truth without getting into the real weirdness. Oh, and Willow had a breakdown, but she's off getting help now.

Anyway, Deena understood. She talked to both of us about trauma and all that and said that there's a young people's grief support group I might be interested in. I think I am. I don't have to talk about the specifics, I can just talk about Tara. I think that would be nice. I mean, I know I can talk to Buffy, but I know it hurts her to see me hurting, just like it hurts me when she's in pain. So I can talk to some people I don't know, but who're going through the same thing, and I don't have to worry about worrying Buffy. Deena also told Buffy about some parenting and job-training classes Buffy can take at the Social Services center so Buff won't have to work at the Dungeon until I'm 18.

Maybe things are actually looking up for the first time in forever.

Missing Mom and Tara factor: 8.2

***

June 28

Dear Tara,

I needed to write to you. I don't know, maybe somewhere in Heaven you can read this, or know I'm thinking about you, but it doesn't matter. I just need to talk to you. I miss you, I miss you so much.

I'm going to a grief support group. You'll be happy to know that since you said you went to one after your mom's death. It's all teenagers, so I feel like they really understand what I'm going through. They've all lost friends, parents, or other loved ones. You know Sunnydale—big on death. I told them all about you and what a wonderful person you always were.

Things are getting better here. Buffy told me how much you helped her when she was trying to figure out why she was doing the dirty with You-Know-Who (and I don't mean Voldemort). I know she misses you. She and I have both cried. She said that you should've had more time here, and it's okay to wish you did, even though I know you're in a better place now. But anyway, Buffy's getting better every day. She's still kinda down sometimes, but she's got that, you know, spark back. I can see the real Buffy in her again.

I'm helping with the slaying, too. I won't say it's exactly fun, but it really makes me feel like I'm helping, I'm not just the kid sister anymore. It's pretty cool. I think you'd be proud of me. I hope you'd be proud of me.

Giles called early this morning. He talked to Buffy and me, and he said that Willow's coming out of her shell. He said there's a lot of work to do, but she's strong, and he thinks she's gonna pull through this. I hope so. I miss her, too. I'm trying not to be mad at her. I can't imagine what it must have been like for her when she saw what Warren did to you. I'll help her when she gets back. I promise I will. For you.

The grief group moderator gave us an assignment: make an acrostic poem of you loved one's name. This is mine. I know it's lame, but here it is anyway.

Tender and loving  
Always my friend  
Rests in peace now  
And will to the end.

Maybe it's impossible  
And can't be done  
Can I keep you with me,  
Loving me alone?  
Always we won't be apart,  
You'll never leave my heart. 

I know, it's stupid, but it was the best thing I could think of, and I really do mean every word. I love you, Tara. At your funeral, Giles said the best thing we can do to honor you is to try to live up to the example you gave. You were good, and loving, and gentle, and wise, and I'm going to try to be like you now.

I love you. Give Mom a hug for me.

Love,

Dawn

Missing Mom and Tara factor: Off the charts.

***

July 5

Dear Diary,

We had fun yesterday. Xander came over and fired up our old Hibachi, and we grilled hamburgers. Later, we sat on the roof and watched all the illegal fireworks. Kind of a small July 4, but it was nice, just the three of us.

Xander says they're breaking ground on the new high school today. His construction crew is going to be building it—right where the old high school got blown up. Buffy couldn't believe it. They're building the high school over the Hellmouth again. She ranted for, like, ten minutes. I can't believe I'm going to be in tenth grade this coming year. At least we'll finally have a real high school instead of an overcrowded middle school and a bunch of portables.

Weird thing: I found out that James, one of the guys in my grief support group (his big sister died a few months ago), is also Jim-Bob Kenobi from my Fantasy Addicts Bulletin Board! He made some comment on the board about his grief support group, and I recognized exactly what he was talking about, and next thing you know, we realized we knew each other. He called me KeyGirl (my handle) yesterday at group. He's cute, too, and seventeen. Maybe he likes me. I hope he likes me. Sure, he's kind of a doof, but then, so am I.

I think my hips are getting big. Buffy says I'm just getting curvy, like Tara, and that made me feel better, but I still think my hips are too big. Buffy says exercise more, don't eat less. As if I'd eat less anyway.

Missing Mom and Tara factor: 6.4

***

July 9

Dear Diary,

HAPPY-LOOLAH!!!!!

You won't believe it! It's the best news possible: Buffy got a new job!!! Deena helped her put in an application with this community service organization thing that's going to be working out of the school once it's built, and anyway, they called Buffy and told her she got the job! She'll start working for them the first of August. She can't wait to put in her notice with the Doublemeat.

How I found out: I walked in the door after spending the night with Janice, and Buffy grabbed me around the hips, lifted me off the floor, and whirled me around until I almost threw up all over her. Then she set me down and started squealing that she got this job. I think I've got hearing damage now. It's the greatest news, though—no more icky Doublemeat Dungeon, and this job'll pay better, too.

Only drawback: They're working out of the school, so Buffy's going to be there while I am. She said something about how we can eat together in the cafeteria. I hope she was joking.

While she was squealing, btw, I asked if I could get highlights. She was so happy she said sure, so I'm going to the salon tomorrow! Gotta go now—Buffy said we're having ice cream sundaes to celebrate. Life is good!

Missing Mom and Tara factor: 9.5, 'cause I know you two would be so proud of Buffy and me right now.

***


	5. Giles--Leaving

Giles

Willow is broken.

Her mind has all but shattered under the weight of her lover's death and her own subsequent actions.  No longer is she the bright, sparkling presence she once was.  Willow is a shadow of her former self, a reflection in a shattered mirror.

Although she has recovered from her catatonia, I fear she will never recover from her brokenness.  I wanted her humbled—she needed to be humbled—and I imagined that the spectacular botching of the memory spell she attempted and losing the woman she loved might have done exactly that.  I never wanted her broken.  If I'd had any idea of what would become of her, I would never have left when I did.

Buffy and Xander have told me the whole story now: how Tara left her, and Willow delved into dark magicks until she nearly killed Dawn.  How Willow gave up doing spells, vowing that she was done with magic.  According to Buffy and Xander, she was doing well, staying away from magic even under stress and great temptation, and Tara was encouraged enough by this that she decided to resume their relationship.  Willow, it seemed, had risen above her addiction.

But how she fell, and now Willow is broken.

She has barely spoken since coming out of her catatonia, and the words she has said have been addressed mostly to Xander.  She will not look anyone else in the eye.  When Buffy or I speak to her, she answers us in one, perhaps two words, keeping her eyes downcast.  The most disturbing part of it is the fact that she reminds me of no one so much as Angel after he'd returned from hell.  He was much the same with me: the submissive posture, the reluctance to speak directly to me, the utterly deferential manner, and the guilt in his face and eyes every time he was near me.  Does Willow place herself in the same category as he?

The one full sentence she has addressed to me is: "I can still feel it inside of me—the magic."

It was at that point that I knew I had to take her to England, to the only people who would be able to help her.  Her parents, much to my surprise, objected not at all when I spoke to them of my intentions.  They may have been willfully ignorant of most of the goings-on in this town, but they know in their hearts that what has happened to Willow is far beyond what ordinary medicine can fix.  She and I are off today.

Xander pulls his borrowed car up outside the Summers house.  I am in the passenger seat, and Willow sits in the back, staring out the window.  Not the one facing the house; she cannot look at it.

"Do you want to go in?" I ask her, knowing what her answer will be.

"No," she murmurs.  She cannot face the house she lived in with her lover, who is dead, and her friends, whom she betrayed.

"I'll wait out front," says Xander.  I make myself leave the vehicle and go to the house.

Dawn and Buffy are inside, and Dawn comes immediately into my arms.  She is crying.  I hold her close, in agony for her tears, but knowing I'm leaving her in good hands.

"I love you," she whispers.

"And I love you, Dawn."  It's easy to say it to Dawn, perhaps because it is such a simple thing to love her.

When I let go of Dawn, Buffy is waiting, a slight, sad smile on her face, and a suitcase beside her.

She is strong again, my Slayer.  Her own brokenness has been healed somewhat, although I'm not foolish enough to believe she will ever be quite as she was before.  I cannot believe anyone called back from a heavenly realm ever would be.  But the worst seems to be behind her, and I am so proud of her.  Demons from within are far more frightening than ones from without, and it's the internal battles that leave the worst scars.  Buffy still struggles, but she has regained her belief that she can conquer.

"It's just some of Willow's things," she says.  "I know she didn't want to come back here, so I packed up some things I thought she'd miss while she's in England."

"A good thought," I say, and it is.  "I-I'm sure she'll be grateful."

"Keep us posted, okay?"

"I shall."

And Buffy is in my arms now.  It is a complex thing to love Buffy.  Dawn is transparent; her emotions can be read in her face, in her eyes.  Buffy, however, had walls built behind her eyes before I even met her.  Every expectation one could have of her is instantly turned on its head.  She is a confounding, frustrating creature.

Yet it is this girl that I love more than anything else in my life.

She says nothing, and I say nothing, and finally, the embrace is broken.  Buffy takes a moment to press her nose against my chest.

"I love the way you smell," she says, and her smile is blinding.

I touch her face, memorizing her.  "Do take care, Buffy."  I look at Dawn.  "Take care of each other."

"We will," says Dawn, swallowing her tears, and as I turn to leave, taking the suitcase with me, the sisters are side-by-side, their arms around each other's waists.

I am at peace as I leave them this time.

The drive to Sunnydale's small airport is silent.  Once there, Xander helps us in with our bags and accompanies us as far as the security gate.  There, he holds out his hand to me.

"See you whenever," he says, his voice a little husky as he attempts to get through this goodbye without breaking down.

Something has changed in Xander, something ineffable.  There is a new look in his eyes, a new way he holds himself.  It is as though he has passed some rite of passage and now declares himself to be a man in this world.  I am unutterably proud of him.

Of all the men who have been in and out of Buffy's life, Xander is the constant.  Nothing has ever been able to drive him from her side.  Perhaps it's simply a vestige of Western male chauvinism, but I feel better somehow knowing that he'll be with her while I'm gone.

Of course, the situation with Anya is somewhat appalling.  I took my leave of her earlier today and found myself in the unique position of having a demon crying all over me.  There is much to her that I do not understand.  If I am given the time, I must remember to research Vengeance Demons while I am in England.

I have also seen the grief in Xander's eyes over what has become of her.  Part of me wants to slap him silly for being so foolish with her, but the more sensible part notes that he's already doing a fine job of punishing himself.  I can only hope for the best for both of them.

"I'll call and let you know how things are periodically," I promise.

Xander turns to Willow, who is weeping again.  Gently, he takes her in his arms and whispers in her ear.  I don't even try to hear what he's saying; it is in their private language, for them only to know.  Instead, I look away, giving them privacy.

"You can do this," I finally hear him say, and I turn to find him holding her face in his hands, making her look at him.  "Hey, I love you.  Just get better."  He kisses her forehead and turns to me.  "Take care of her, okay?"  His voice cracks, and he hurries away, placing Willow in my charge.

Willow and I go through security, and I remember that the last time I was here was also the last time I saw Tara.  There is a sudden pang in my heart as I think of her.

Tara and I sang together.  Mere words cannot describe the experience, for it was more than just singing: it was sharing, complete sharing, of emotion.  During the time the musical demon was in Sunnydale, Tara and I shared a duet.  I cannot remember the words.  It is all I can do to pick out the melody on my guitar.  But I remember vividly her lovely voice and the sense of shared pain as we both knew we would have to leave the ones we loved.

It was that shared pain that brought Tara here the night I left.  She caught up with me just as I reached the security gate.  No words were exchanged.  She just ran into my arms and clung to me, crying softly.  I knew she had decided to leave Willow, knew it without being told, and as much as I ached for Tara, I knew it was for the best.

Dear Tara.  It is a mad world indeed in which such a gentle creature should meet such a violent and senseless end.

And now Willow is broken.  She must be rebuilt from the ground up, from the soul out.  It will not be an easy task, and I can only hope that the strength she exhibited as a sixteen-year-old "Slayerette" is still buried within her.  I reflect on my own past, on wild, hungry days and nights, on the rush of forbidden magicks, on the knife-edge relationships I engaged in with people like Ethan Rayne, and I know what it is Willow will face in the days and months, and even the years ahead.

How I wish I could have kept her from it.  It was my mistake, never seeing what could happen, always believing that as she was a better person than I, she would somehow avoid the traps I could not.  Regrets, however, are useless now.

As we board the plane, I'm sure we look incongruous: a tall, older man beside a small, pale, grieving young woman.  Perhaps the other passengers will think we are a father and daughter.  Strangely, I don't believe it would be much of a misconception.  For a man who has never procreated (at least to my knowledge), I seem to have a great many children.  And God help me, I love them all.

Willow is broken.  I pray the pieces can be put back together.


	6. Spike--Remembering

Spike

You can't quite remember what you're supposed to be called. Sometimes a name will flit in and out of your mind, but you can't hold onto it long enough to own it. But that's okay with you, since names carry meanings, and you're afraid of what the meaning of your name might be.

Why you're afraid, you couldn't tell. You'd likely ignore the question if you were asked. All you know is that whenever you come close to knowing your name, you run.

Sooner or later, you run back home. "Home" is an odd name for the place, since you can't name it, either, but you know it must be. You recognize every nook and cranny of the town, know what to expect of it. You know the places to avoid, the places where others might recognize you. You know where to get the blood you need to keep living. You know intellectually that you're a vampire, but can't quite connect yourself with the others you see. Something's different about you, even if you can't name it.

And there are your ladies.

You see them one night, walking down the street, and know they are yours, or perhaps you are theirs. One has rich brown hair, fair skin, and blue eyes. You call her the Fair One. The other one, the smaller one, is golden of hair, skin, and eyes, so you call her the Golden One. They are your ladies, and you cannot stop yourself from watching them.

At night, you watch as they stalk the graveyards, staking newborn vampires before they can feed. Then you watch as they go back to their house, talking and laughing. You're always just a little too far out of range for even your sharp hearing to catch what they say, but you love the sound of their voices.

The Fair is the apprentice to the Golden's warrior and the younger of the two, in spite of her greater height. Sometimes while you watch through the windows at night, the Fair One cries and moans in her sleep. The Golden One almost always hears and comes in to comfort the younger one. It is good, you decide. It is as it should be.

One night, though, the Golden is too deeply asleep to hear the Fair's distress. Cautiously, you move in through the Fair One's open window, move to the side of her bed. You gaze down at her young face, pained at what you see there, and one of your hands moves to stroke the soft hair spread over her pillow. She is soothed by your touch and settles into a deeper sleep. Gratified beyond what you can explain to yourself, you leave, feeling peace settle into your troubled soul.

And it is troubled. When you sleep—which is as little as you can manage—you dream of terrible things. You see blood and fire, smell fear and pain and rage. And you feel . . . you don't want to feel that. It can't be you.

There are others you feel you know in the town. One is a young man you call Angry. Whenever you see this man, you see dark eyes filled with killing rage and hatred. You know to stay far away from him.

The other you know in the town, you call Friend. She is slender and blond and constantly wears a particular pendant around her neck. Something eases within you when you see her. Occasionally, you are even tempted to go to Friend and speak with her, as you grow more troubled each night and feel that a friend would be a good thing to have.

But she would know you, and you cannot be known. Not yet.

You keep watching. The Fair and the Golden are out almost every night together. You realize that you've always stayed too far away from them to see the colors of their eyes, yet you know the Fair has blue eyes, and the Golden's eyes are green flecked with gold. You know what they smell like. You know the feel of their skin. You know what it is to have them smile at you, say your name . . .

You almost hear it, so you run. But not far. Just to the other side of the town.

You don't see them for a few days. In that time, you sink into your dreams. There are people there, too.

One is a tall man, darkly beautiful, a man who is cruel and cunning and whom you love and hate with equal measure. One is a woman, beautiful and cold. She looks at you with disdain, dismissing you with a flick of her eyes.

And there is the Dark One. You are drawn to her in a way you can't explain. She is a dark mirror of the Fair One. Her hair is darker, her skin paler, and her blue-gray eyes are empty, insane. Yet she draws you.

The Dark One dominates your thoughts in the few days without your Golden and Fair divinities. In your more fanciful moments, you imagine them as the Fates, or the Moirae. The Fair is the Maiden, fresh and beautiful as the morning. The Golden is the Mother, bright as the sun at midday. And the Dark is the Crone, opaque as midnight.

You are drawn to them all. The Fair you feel toward as you would a child, someone to protect and rear. The Golden you love with an all-consuming love. You want her in every way, body and soul. The Dark, however . . . she draws you in the darkest of ways, whispers to you in your reveries, makes you feel an insatiable hunger for blood and lust and violence. It disturbs you in ways you can't name, any more than you can name yourself.

One night, you hear a woman's cry from an alleyway. A vampire has a young woman no older than your Fair One in his grasp and is sinking his teeth into her.

You cannot ignore her cries. You rush in, pulling the demon away from the girl, and fight it. This one is young and stupid, and you end the fight quickly, thrusting a piece of wood through his heart.

"Thank you!" cries the girl, throwing herself at you. She sobs, words tumbling out of her mouth, and you want to comfort her, you truly do.

But the blood. The blood on her neck calls out to you, and your hunger grows, and you can see yourself sinking your own teeth into her, draining her life into your body . . .

You push her away, and you run.

You run, and you run, and you run, until finally you find yourself back where you began. The Golden and the Fair are asleep at this hour, so you perch in a tree outside their house. You can see both their windows from your vantage point. Just being here, being with them, soothes your agitation, and soon, you've put the violence and bloodlust behind you.

By daybreak, you feel much better. Still, you don't want to leave them again. You feel guilty, in an abstract way, for having stayed away even for a few days. That's why you begin to seek out places you can hide during the daylight hours, places where you're safe from the sun's scorching rays and your ladies' searching eyes.

So it is that you're able to watch them play in a park a few days later. The man you call Angry is with them. You don't like that, as anger seems out of place next to their loveliness, but as you watch, you see how gentle and loving Angry is with them. You put it down to their charms and alter your opinion of Angry not a whit.

You watch as they eat a picnic lunch together. It's interrupted by Friend, who joins them as soon as they open a package of cookies, and helps herself. They accept her presence happily. You watch, then, as they play, tossing around a Frisbee and chasing about with a small herd of Springer spaniels that seem to be owned by another picnicking family. You watch as the Fair grabs the remaining cookies and uses her greater height to keep them away from Golden, and you watch as Golden wrestles her to the ground to get at the cookies.

They blind you with their beauty, and their laughter deafens you.

Some days later, it is the Fair One's birthday. Sweet sixteen, you know without even being told. Fair, Golden, Angry, and Friend all descend on the Bronze, along with a group of teenagers who know your Fair One. You're able to find a dark corner and observe the festivities. It lightens your heart to see your lovely Fair One so happy, downing cake and soft drinks and ripping into her presents and dancing with anyone who will partner her. You wish, oh, how you wish, that you had the courage to approach her.

Yet somehow, you cannot. You know that were you to do so, you would be turned away. The happiness on the faces of your Golden and Fair Ones would drain away in your presence. You know not how you know this, but you don't doubt your instincts.

So you just watch. You watch until it's time for everyone to go home, and then you shadow the Golden and the Fair away from the club. You note that each one holds flowers in her arms, two bouquets apiece, and it makes you curious.

The reason for the flowers becomes obvious as they enter a cemetery. Instead of stalking through the graves, keeping a close watch for rising vampires, they head straight toward one particular grave. You watch from afar as each one lays a bouquet on the grave. They kiss their fingers and press them to the gravestone, then stand, arms around each other, looking at the final resting place of one they loved. Then they leave, carrying with them the remaining bouquets to perhaps place on another loved one's grave.

They leave, but you stay. You cannot stop the tears that roll down your face as you comprehend that a beloved soul has been taken from the Earth—a soul beloved by the ones you love. You resolve to pay your own respects, and walk to the grave where the flowers lie. You look at the flowers, and you look at the headstone.

TARA MACLAY

Your legs give out from under you, for you know this name. Tara Maclay is the name of one who is soft and sweet-smelling. It is the name of one with a melodic voice and understanding eyes. Tara Maclay is a shy smile, a gentle presence, a friend.

The tears are uncontrollable now. Her soul has left the Earth, never to return, and how your Fair and Golden Ones must miss her! Tara was almost a mother to Dawn—

One name has opened the floodgates. You remember Dawn, fair as the first light of morning. You remember Buffy, golden and gleaming. You remember Drusilla, who led you into your eternal night. You remember Xander, and Anya, and Willow, and Giles, and Angel, and Darla, and so many others from so many places and so much time . . .

You remember William. You remember Spike.

__

Do you know what I find works real good with Slayers? Killing 'em!

You remember death.

__

One. Good. Day.

You remember blood.

__

Do you want it?

You remember screams, pleas for mercy.

__

Spike! Stop! Please!

You remember . . .

__

Ask me again why I could never love you!

Evil, soulless thing!

Ask me again why I could never love you!

How could you do that to her?

ASK ME AGAIN WHY I COULD NEVER LOVE YOU!

. . . everything.

And you run.

The voices continue to shriek in your mind as you pelt aimlessly through the streets, through the alleys, through the woods, and you cannot outrun them. You can't outrun Spike. Because you are Spike.

A construction site looms ahead, and you continue running until you fall into it, falling deeper and deeper until finally, the ground meets you hard enough to give you a blessed few moments of unconsciousness.

When you awake, you are in near-total darkness. You know this is a place no light will reach in the daytime. Slowly, you roll over onto your back, arms splaying out to your sides in a cruciform position.

You are Spike. You are everything he was, but now with the addition of a soul. A soul that you sought out, believing it would make you worthy of Buffy, your Golden One.

The irony is thick enough to make you laugh.

You recall receiving the soul, and the madness that enveloped you afterward as your mind broke down under the weight of the realization of what you were, what you had done. It was a neat way to handle it, you think: conveniently forgetting who and what you are. The past, it seems, is never polite enough to stay where you put it.

There's plenty of wood around. It's a real temptation, staking yourself. And even if you can't do that, the sun will be up in only a few hours. You can walk into it. The pain will all be over if you do so.

One thought stops you: You wanted this soul. You requested it. And you're bloody well going to live with it, even if it drives you insane. Again.

So resolved, you look up, think over the route you took to this place, and realize you're under the construction of the new high school. Another irony. You realize that Dawn will soon tread the floor above you.

And a new memory surfaces:

__

I'm counting on you to protect her.

'Til the end of the world.

It's a good thought. It gives your screaming soul some kind of comfort, knowing that you protected a child out of love. Perhaps, then, there is something you can do now to mitigate all the evil you've done in the past.

Hours later, you're still having trouble with your name. You realize what an elegant solution it was that Angelus came up with, altering the name he'd taken as a newborn vampire to express that he was no longer the same. You're no longer William—you haven't been for a long time—but you don't want to be Spike any longer, either. Perhaps you can come up with a solution in the days to come.

It torments you, who and what you are. But you're through running.

***

That's the end, unless a particularly strong Willow muse blindsides me. At this point, I'd like to give credit to my amazing beta team of Tanja, Gyrus, Chris K., and Aurora (my Xander guru), all of whom helped out at various times. Thanks for being there for me, guys!


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